


mine.

by hoverbun



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Collars, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 07:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoverbun/pseuds/hoverbun
Summary: Think of it as a gift.





	mine.

**Author's Note:**

> i promise some day i'll write not-pwp for this game but i guess i'm just like this for now

The Biker moves his hand over Jacket’s shoulder, and up over the bulging collar. Even with the restrictive nature of the strip, he can see Jacket’s throat bob when he swallows at the sight in the mirror they share.

“Is it heavy?” The Biker asks. Jacket shakes his head. It felt heavy to put on, when he pulled tight on the collar to slip it through the buckle, and made Jacket hiss a little. He slips two of his fingers into the space where skin meets the stitches underside, and tugs a little, checking on the loose space. There isn’t much to offer. Just enough to breathe. With his hand pressing in, Jacket can’t breathe.

Gently, he pulls him back, fingers looped through. He can hear what remains of Jacket’s breath hitch. The Biker hums warmly in his ear. “It looks good on you, J.”

Jacket’s eyes flick over to him, his expression quietly relaxing out of the corner of the Biker’s vision. He sees him blink slowly in the mirror, and watches his body move closely into his, kissing him. Jacket’s initiative is getting better. He melts whenever the Biker calls him that, now. The Biker grins against Jacket’s cheek, feels his pulse flutter when Jacket’s mouth kisses the corner of his own, and moves his other arm around him. The fingers in the collar remain, and he tugs on it again. Jacket hums something warm.

“I want to break this in,” he mutters against Jacket. Jacket grins, too, grabs a hold of the Biker like he does when he tells him he’s excited. He stays close, runs his hands up the Biker’s chest to wrap his arms around him, letting his head be tugged back to grin close to his face. The Biker shares his enthusiastic look. “God, look at you, you’re such a  _ babe.” _

He kisses him, hard, breaking his grin to push against him. The Biker leads Jacket as far back as he can bend, and follows forward to kiss him intently, to which Jacket enthusiastically allows, eyes rolling back shut. The Biker runs his hand under the varsity and down Jacket’s bent back, over his hips and to his ass, drawing him in. Jacket draws a leg up the Biker’s, and it makes him grin again, bending him in half and making him urgent. The distance between the Biker’s mirror and his bed is pretty short. So he pushes on Jacket, makes him walk backwards, and sits over him on the sheets.

The Biker only now slips his fingers out from the collar, slack finally catching and letting Jacket breathe properly. It’s so he can reach over to the bedside table, where a short leather leash sits. It came with the collar. Jacket’s eyes light up, and the Biker’s grin turns devilish when he notices.

“You’re too overdressed,” he remarks, and Jacket immediately knows what he should do, hands going for his varsity. “Put that back on when you’re done, though.”

Jacket makes quick work of his clothes. He shrugs off his varsity, pulls his t-shirt over his head, and lays back just enough to take off his jeans, moving as best as he can with the Biker’s legs framing his own. He gets his jeans down to his knees when he touches his underwear, looking up at the Biker as if for permission. The Biker keeps his grin, watching him intently, liking the show. He nods, and Jacket takes them off, too.

When he is bare, he puts the varsity back on. The inside is a soft silk-like interior. The Biker reaches forward and yanks Jacket up by the circular ring on the front of his new collar. Jacket breathes sharply, taken by surprise.

He considers locking the around that ring, so he can lead Jacket around, tug him down and direct him where he wants it to be. And that sounds great, but he decides on the smaller one behind neck, next to the buckle keeping it tight. There’s no hair in the way, but the Biker runs his hand from the back of Jacket’s head to tip him forward, down his skin, and then locks the leash into the small ring. Jacket moves his hands forward, to the Biker’s hips, like he knows where he’s supposed to be.

The Biker gently guides his own hand up the length of the leather strap, looking down at Jacket pressing his face into his stomach, where his hands are running over. The Biker pulls back on the leash just enough to get Jacket’s attention, and he feels his own heart flutter (and heat rush down) when Jacket looks up at him, chin on his abdomen, hands attentive.

“Undress me,” he commands.

Watching Jacket’s face light up is delightful. He eagerly takes off the Biker’s gaudy belt, opening the buckle so he can unzip his jeans, dragging them down his thighs. Jacket tries to touch his boxers, tries to move his mouth close to the half-hard tent nudging under his chin, but the Biker tugs on the leash experimentally to get his attention. He takes one of Jacket’s hands, brings it up, and leaves it over his shirt.

“All of it, first,” he says, and Jacket nods. He tips his head, and looks at how they’re sitting. “Get on your knees.”

Jacket fixes how he sits. He brings his long legs on to the bed, giving himself a bit more height when he sits back on his knees. He looks up at the Biker, attentive and loyal, and guides the shirt up, indulgently allowing himself to run his palms on the Biker’s toned chest before finally reaching his underarms. The Biker finishes the task for him, exchanging hands while he takes the shirt off one sleeve at a time. He looks down at Jacket, who eyes the chest so close to his face.

The Biker makes some short laugh through his nose. The hand behind his head nudges him forward, and Jacket gathers the Biker’s muscles into his hands while running his tongue over the toned skin. Jacket crawls as close as he can, tongue over his chest, down his stomach, over his navel, and then nudging his face against the warm cloth keeping him from touching his Biker completely. Like the last layer of wrapping paper.

“Ambitious,” the Biker croons, feeling the hint of a grin on Jacket’s lips. He tugs up on the leash, making Jacket crane his head up as best he can. “You want that?”

Jacket nods.

“You want my cock pressed down your throat?”

Jacket’s eyes nearly flutter, but he nods again.

“I like seeing my cock in your mouth.” The Biker runs his other hand over Jacket’s hair, then against his body, then under his boxer’s band. Then he stops, slipping down instead to pull his hand through the front band, pulling his dick out through the hole. Jacket touches him, almost hesitant, like he isn’t sure what he’ll be allowed to next.

The Biker pushes the head of his cock against Jacket’s lips. He eagerly opens his mouth and takes him in, the warmth feeling so-very-hot once Jacket allows him inside. The Biker allows his own eyes to shut, momentarily, as he relishes in the attentive way Jacket moves his tongue over his skin.

“Like that,” he encourages, opening his eyes so he doesn’t miss the sight. The Biker slips his hand from the base of his cock to the back of Jacket’s head, a gentle press in his hair to coax him to take more. Jacket’s slowly breathing is warm against the fabric and the skin that he has yet to run his mouth over, replacing the Biker’s hand with his own. The Biker pushes down until Jacket has to take his hand away, braced against the Biker’s thigh instead. “I like it when you’re eager. You know to suck my cock.”

Jacket’s breathing twists to a gentle whine. The Biker can’t see Jacket’s own cock when he’s bent over like this, but he imagine he’s hard. If he could reach, or offer any part of his body, he’d nudge forward to touch him, tease him some more. As Jacket takes him as far into his mouth as he can, the warmest part of his mouth opening his throat, the Biker pulls back on the leash. He can feel the heat of Jacket’s throat press against his cock’s head, closing his throat all around and making Jacket hitch, shoulders tense, body bracing. It’s only for a moment. It’s over before the Biker lets himself groan at how fucking fantastic it felt.

Jacket has to pull the Biker out of his throat once the collar slackens. He breathes, hard and warm, against the Biker’s slick cock, who laughs instead. He leads Jacket’s head up to look at him again, guiding him back, an arm outstretched to keep the collar taunt as he climbs on to the bed. Jacket looks so good in his varsity. It’s the Biker’s favourite article of clothing. Jacket sits back on his knees, watching the Biker attentively

“I should keep this on you,” the Biker muses, giving the leash an experimental tug to mark his words. Jacket’s head tips in the direction he pulls on it. “Every time we go out. It’ll stop you from wandering off. It’ll let everyone know you’re taken.”

He gets close to Jacket, whose hands move like they want to touch him. But he only lets him reach his hips before the Biker puts a firm hand over them, keeping him still. He moves his mouth over the edge of the collar, breath hot, voice low.

“Let everyone know you belong to me. They’d all be jealous, knowing they can’t take you away from me.”

It’s hard to kiss, or bite, Jacket’s throat. But the Biker manages, moving his mouth over Jacket’s jawline, lingering only for light kisses. The Biker moves his hand down to Jacket’s cock, wrapping his fingers slowly around it, and feels Jacket’s body nearly tremble when he finally starts to stroke him. He’s so hard, straining in his hand, holding back from rolling his hips forward to get more of that touch. The Biker thinks about pulling him into his lap, but that won’t let him use their new toy that well. The leash leads over Jacket’s shoulder, as he whimpers something into the Biker’s ear.

“Or I should just latch this thing to our bed,” the Biker says, with a tug on the leash. “Won’t let you leave anyway. Come back and fuck you whenever I feel like it. Would you like that?”

Jacket nods against his head, giving way to his own desperation and rolling his divine fucking hips against the Biker’s hand, curled around his cock. The Biker grins against his jawline.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? How nice it’d be to forget anything and just let me fuck you?”

Jacket’s next whine is a little more desperate; insistent. The Biker laughs and pulls his head back, giving Jacket a sinister grin, the kind that sends a thrill rushing down his spine. The Biker draws away, but it’s to the bedside table. Jacket follows, shuffling on his knees, to sit expectant and eager.

Now standing, the Biker pulls his underwear off, sighing in relief at the last bit of restraint slipping down his thighs. He steps out of them once they drop down and he’s attending to preparing himself, lubing his fingers and cock up to press against Jacket. He tugs on the leash a little, getting Jacket closer to the edge. Then, he tips his head. “Turn yourself around.”

Jacket does, shuffling on his knees, sitting up a little when the leash becomes taunt. The Biker allows him the slack, because he wants to see him bent, eager, waiting. He steps towards him, then pushes his hand against Jacket’s ass, intruding with a finger. He can feel Jacket tense, shudder, lean down so the leash intentionally tightens. The Biker pushes hard, forcing himself inside, curling to the spots that make Jacket’s body tense again. He can hear him whine into his varsity’s sleeve.

“Good boy,” the Biker says, feeling his own body ache, “I’m glad you know what position I like you best in.”

Jacket lifts his head to look at the Biker over his shoulder, dizzy-eyed and desperate, pushing himself on to his elbows to try and watch the Biker finger him. The Biker forces in another one of his fingers and Jacket’s eyes roll back, mouth parting, and he sighs something lurid and needy. Jacket doesn’t care about preparation and mindfulness. The Biker just likes teasing him.

So when the Biker pushes against a part of him that forces his head down and to groan loudly into the bedsheets, it is a relief when those fingers are all but ripped out to be replaced by a different intrusion, the head of the Biker’s cock pressing against Jacket in the curve of his ass. The Biker takes a moment to take in the sight, of Jacket bent over and waiting, before he eases himself in, just enough to refamiliarize himself with Jacket’s body.

Then, he forces himself to the hilt, and Jacket’s half-scream is worth it.

Standing is, truthfully, not his preferred position, not when there’s a terribly soft bed with a gorgeous boy who wants to be used kneeling on it just inches beneath him. The Biker pulls his hand back to tighten the leash and leans the rest of his body in, pushing hard against Jacket to relish in the dangerously overwhelming sensation. One of Jacket’s knees remarkably gives out. Jacket lifts his head with the collar pulled tight on him, groaning into their room.

The Biker pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, hitting Jacket again for another uneven groan, as he starts to build up the pace he wants to fuck him with. Jacket’s breaths are short, desperate, restrained; suffocated by the collar and his own vow of silence. The Biker thinks about Jacket’s voice and how hard he could beg for it, how much sweeter it’d be to hear him mutter a  _ yes, yes, yes _ with every push of his hips. Jacket’s fingers curl into the blanket when the Biker brings his own leg up on to the edge of the bed, shifting the angle he rolls into him with just enough to fuck deeper.

“Come  _ on,” _ he taunts, pulling on the leash to make Jacket’s head tip back, looking over to his Biker. “Babe,  _ fuck, _ I  _ love _ listening to you.”

Like encouragement, Jacket moves back into the Biker, full and desperate, so he can groan loud, needy. He pushes back whenever there is a chance in the Biker’s relentless pounding, marking each push with a lurid moan rolling off his tongue, his breath short from the pressure around his throat. The Biker thinks, with a passing thought, of a cock in Jacket’s mouth while suffocated by his collar, and it makes him push hard on him with that rush of adrenaline, forcing Jacket down on to his face again.

The Biker grabs Jacket’s bare hips and pushes into him, under his varsity, feeling it bunch up under his own chest when he lays himself against Jacket. He pushes into him fiercely, unrelenting, each snap of his hips burying deep inside and hitting every angle inside of Jacket that makes him twitch, beg, groan. The Biker breathes hard and urgent, rough sounds cutting through his throat whenever he feels his cock hit as far as he can go.

“You feel so fucking  _ great,” _ he gasps, composure lost, overwhelmed with the feeling of Jacket, Jacket, Jacket. The Biker leans forward, staring down against the back of Jacket’s head, as close as he can get across his back. “Just how--I fucking--want you--”

The fist holding the leather leash tight is starting to ache, but he pulls it down the length of Jacket’s varsity, pulling his head far back, dizzying him, cutting his breath. The Biker hears something, like a strangled, breathless whisper, and it could be a name, or it could be a plead, or it could just be a deep sound Jacket can’t make. His body is tense, tense while the Biker continues his harsh thrusts, and it stays tense, until Jacket seems to slacken. The Biker laughs, intentionally teasing, right by his ear.

“Already?”

He’s not done. He holds the leash, but doesn’t pull back - instead, he leads that hand under Jacket’s shoulder, pulling his softened body to sit up, pulling back on him until Jacket’s body bends how he like it. 

He fucks hard up into him, into his spent and tired hips, until Jacket makes sounds again, low and out of breath but just as needy. He can tell his arms strain to keep himself up. That’s alright. The Biker clenches tight on his shoulder, and leans into him again.

His breath loses the pace he’s keeping on his body, a twist of panting and curses and Jacket, and Jacket, and murmurs about how he feels, and Jacket. The Biker pushes Jacket back to his elbows to lean down against him, deeper, hardest, the coil inside red hot and cracking. And then he hits the spot he wants to reach, his eyes rolling shut while he groans something vile against the back of Jacket’s neck, without language to frame it.

The Biker is heavy, and doesn’t want to pull out. He holds Jacket there, releasing his strained grip on the leash to knead far more gentle on his shoulder. He doesn’t pull out until he moves Jacket over, enough to flip him over not on the mess in the sheets. He was due for cleaning them anyway. The Biker keeps a knee on the bed, looming over Jacket, nose against his cheek. He can hear Jacket’s laboured breathing when he’s this close.

Jacket’s arms are tired, but he coaxes them up over his shoulders and around his neck, so he can lift him farther up the bed, their sides pressing against the pillows he hasn’t lain out properly. When they rest, the Biker’s body heavy on Jacket’s, he roams his hands to Jacket’s neck. The collar comes free with just a little bit of fumbling, and though he’s been able to breathe all this time, the deep breath Jacket takes is grounding.

There are the lingering traces of bruises starting to bloom on his throat. Where the black collar rubbed against his throat is raw and red, and the Biker kisses his neck. He slides off Jacket a little, to let him breathe, sprawling his limbs out to keep him still, warm, and a lot more considerate. Jacket tips his head away to give the Biker room. The Biker brings a hand up to Jacket’s face so he can put his cheek against his hand.

It’s a quiet nursing. The Biker kisses under his jaw, and it is patient. He runs his thumb on Jacket’s cheek, and Jacket moves his head to kiss his finger’s pad. Both of their eyes are closed.

“Good job,” he mutters, affectionate, into Jacket’s throat. Jacket hums a response. “You are so hot, J.” Jacket smiles, almost a little confident, against the Biker’s thumb. “You’re  _ so _ hot. I love it. You were great.”

Jacket eventually tips his head back into the Biker’s direction, but the Biker doesn’t unbury himself from the worked ring around Jacket’s throat. He keeps his hand on Jacket’s cheek, and holds him close.


End file.
